“Mmhm,” Evander agreed somewhat stiffly, too embarrassed by himself and by the necessity of stepping out to the hotel now, looking more dishevelled than anyone ought to be, to verbally express that that had not been part of the plan.
He was sure she was quite aware. Thankfully, of course, they knew no one here and no one was particularly liable to comment upon it. Not that Evander wasn’t frightfully self-conscious of everyone they passed as they made their way up to their rooms – but perhaps that was for the best, because he was too busy avoiding strangers’ gazes to think about what came next until they were alone in their rooms, their luggage unloaded intact (he had immediately made certain of that), and his eyes had fallen upon Caroline’s face, still a little rosy in the cheeks.
“Well,” Evander said, suddenly awkward again. “Would you like supper? Or, er, anything else? Or...?” He trailed off, trying to keep his gaze focused anywhere but her – or the bed, for that matter. It was late, and between the portkey and the meal at their London reception and the leftover effects of the drink swirling around in him, Evander no longer had any appetite. (Appetite for supper, that was.) They would have an early day tomorrow, if Caroline wanted to see anything of the city before they moved on to the next stop of the European tour – but, well, hopefully she was not too tired yet?
He was abruptly more nervous than he had been all day. Ridiculous, really; ridiculous. It had all seemed perfectly natural a moment ago. Maybe the room was too big. Too much air in here. Or not enough air. Perhaps he should open the window. Or perhaps not; there had been a terrible stench from the Seine that he could do without.
He was sure she was quite aware. Thankfully, of course, they knew no one here and no one was particularly liable to comment upon it. Not that Evander wasn’t frightfully self-conscious of everyone they passed as they made their way up to their rooms – but perhaps that was for the best, because he was too busy avoiding strangers’ gazes to think about what came next until they were alone in their rooms, their luggage unloaded intact (he had immediately made certain of that), and his eyes had fallen upon Caroline’s face, still a little rosy in the cheeks.
“Well,” Evander said, suddenly awkward again. “Would you like supper? Or, er, anything else? Or...?” He trailed off, trying to keep his gaze focused anywhere but her – or the bed, for that matter. It was late, and between the portkey and the meal at their London reception and the leftover effects of the drink swirling around in him, Evander no longer had any appetite. (Appetite for supper, that was.) They would have an early day tomorrow, if Caroline wanted to see anything of the city before they moved on to the next stop of the European tour – but, well, hopefully she was not too tired yet?
He was abruptly more nervous than he had been all day. Ridiculous, really; ridiculous. It had all seemed perfectly natural a moment ago. Maybe the room was too big. Too much air in here. Or not enough air. Perhaps he should open the window. Or perhaps not; there had been a terrible stench from the Seine that he could do without.
